Cast The First Stone
by Anita M. Blake
Summary: Non-magic. Vernon used the right methods to instil his prejudices in one Harry James Potter. But his ideals and hatred left little room for the real world, and when reality comes crashing down on Harry, will his heart and mind be closed forever? SLASH.
1. A Different Sort of Beginning

**Title:** Cast The First Stone

**Author:** Anita M. Blake

**Warnings:** Explicit language, racism, homophobia, slash

**Pairings:** Eventual Theodore Nott/Harry Potter, mentions of Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnegan, Ronald Weasley/Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson.

**Summary:** Non-magic. Vernon used the _right_ methods to instil his prejudices in one Harry James Potter. But his ideals and hatred left little room for the real world, and when reality comes crashing down on Harry, will he adjust or will his heart and mind be closed forever?

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"_We__'__re here, we__'__re queer, get used to it!__"_

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**One: A Different (But Thoroughly Normal and Highly Unfreakish) Sort of Beginning **

_Wednesday, November 2, 1981_

Vernon Dursley prided himself on being the right, normal sort. He had a well-paid job and was high up in his company, Grunnings; he had a loving wife who would settle for him, a moustache he prided himself on keeping very well-trimmed, and a beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed boy of one. He was happy and contented with his life.

He drove a normal sort of car on a normal sort of street - cobblestone, if you please, the good old fashioned British style of street, and so the only type of street worth living on, if you asked him. He had a normal sort of house with an award-winning garden: the normal, nosy neighbours were always trying to work out Petunia Dursley's secret to how she got his shirts so clean and white, and how she coaxed the grass into growing that particular shade of emerald-green.

The weather was normal, too. Overcast. Rain in some parts. Take care on the roads.

It wasn't even an unusual day - a Wednesday, a good, firm Wednesday, neither the end nor the beginning of anything, save our story.

However, when he had gotten into his normal car that morning and turned on his favourite, regular radio station, Three Talk Radio_,_ he could tell that something was amiss. Something was _not normal._

Vernon chose, at that precise moment, to look around at Mr Wallace's front porch. He saw, quite easily as it was _out in the open_, a rainbow-coloured banner proclaiming "Gay Pride Day".

Grunting in disgust, Vernon rolled his eyes and swung his BMW out into the street, away from the cul-de-sac. Effing queers, he thought.

---

_Lily kissed James swiftly, but soundly, on the cheek. _

_He stroked her hair a little, loving its texture and admiring its colour; __  
"__I__'__ll see you soon, Lil!  
Take care of the Prongslet while I__'__m gone.  
Don__'__t let him get into _too _much trouble__…__ wouldn__'__t want him ending up like me.__"_

_They both smiled as they embraced tightly.  
He pulled on his black coat, and set off for work in the rain._

---

The day at the office was no easier on his blood-pressure. By eleven o' clock, two - not one, which was bad enough, but two - of his most prized clients had cancelled all of their orders for drills and had moved to a closer and cheaper alternative to Grunnings. Vernon had been denied an early lunch-break, and when he finally did get to eat, all the doughnuts bar the _rainbow-coloured _ones had all been sold out and eaten.

There were even a few ruddy crumbs on the shiny black marble surface.

In before him had been some young sort, a tall, pale man with dark hair and, would you believe it? A _pink_ shirt. He'd probably bought the bloody rainbow doughnuts, too.

Vernon grunted in disgust. He'd just have to go hungry that lunchtime.

---

_The sky was pitch-black by the time he got home. _

_Lily and James danced around the kitchen to the sounds of only their laughter,  
his hands running up and down her still-slim, now marked waist;  
the marks of her pregnancy, their triumph against the odds. _

_James tripped over a discarded bottle; a baby cried from the other room. _

_"__Now, James, look what you__'__ve gone and done.__"_

_She wasn__'__t really angry. _

---

The day seemed to last forever; at last, he was clocked out, in his cool, plush BMW, and stuck in a ten-mile long pile-up. Unbeknownst to our Vernon Dursley, who had been trapped in the cage of ignorance to the world called His Office, cars had been piling in and out of the surrounding areas all morning and afternoon. Most all of them had been proudly adorned with buttons and banners and bumper stickers proclaiming their _Gay Pride_.

"Bugger," swore Vernon, faced by a solid, immoveable and unpartable red sea of blinking indicators and those dratted hazard lights that only pansies ever _actually_ used beyond their driving test, foggy nights or when they wanted to quickly pop into the local Woolies to buy some pick-and-mix.

---

"_Let__'__s go out, get some fresh air.  
Just a drive; you, me, and baby Harry. _

_"It__'__ll be an escape from this house for a bit, Lils.  
We can go and see Sirius.  
He__'__ll love to see the troublemaker again.__"_

_A laugh. _

_"__He only saw him yesterday!__"_

_He kissed her gorgeous, flame-red hair; she was perfect to and for him. _

_"__I know. But he loves the brat.__"_

_Lily snatched the keys off the table and, with a tinkling sound, threw them into the air for James to catch.  
Quick as a striking snake, he snatched them out of the air with a precision few could boast matching. _

---

Petunia Dursley was in the kitchen, right where he left her, when Vernon Dursley blundered over the welcome-mat ("Better get rid of that, Pet, it's bloody annoying"), red-faced and blustering. The baby in Petunia's arm burped; he was clearly a Dursley, right from the mop of dull blond hair and the ruddy face to the chubby feet.

Petunia and Vernon together was Lewis Carroll's dream come true; they looked like the Walrus and a long-necked, overly nosy Carpenter. Little Dudley could have been a young Tweedledee.

"Da!" The youngest Dursley stretched out his arms to his father, a grumpy pout upon his face.

"Not now, Dudders," he intoned gruffly, his moustache trembling along with his chins. Vernon eased himself onto the kitchen chair and rested his heavy palms on the table with a sigh.

"How was your day, Vernon?" Petunia crooned over the sound of the radio (at its lowest volume) and the baby on her hip's heavy breathing; he overexerted himself trying to reach for his father.

"Bloody awful! We lost the Brown and Nobel orders, both of them, and there was some kind of Queer-fest going on all day…" Petunia stiffened. He noticed. "What is it? They haven't tried to… _convert_ you, have they?"

"No, it's nothing, I was just remembering something that happened the other day. My sister, Lily, tried to call me. I didn't pick up when I saw the number, of course. Wishy-washy liberal nonsense, wouldn't want to be involved with any of it; especially not now we have Dudley to look after." Vernon looked, for once, thoughtful. "Didn't they have a kid, too? Herman, or some stupid nonsense like that, wasn't it?" "Harry," Petunia sniffed. "Harry Potter. About Dudley's age. It's such a shame he'll be brought up around all that rubbish. I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out bent at the end of it, with that sort around him all his life."

"Terrible shame about the name, too," Vernon Egbert Dursley chuckled, popping biscuit into his mouth.

---

_Petunia Dursley,_

_This is your nephew, Harold James Potter - Harry. Your sister, Lily Potter and her husband James Matthew Potter have sadly passed away in a motor vehicle collision with a lorry on the M24. The driver fell asleep at the wheel, and all but Harry were killed instantly. _

_There is a light among the dark: Harry has a small scar on his forehead which may never heal, but no other damage has been detected. _

_I beg that you take your nephew into your care until he is of age; that you love and raise him as your own son. I am aware of the tensions between your two families, but blood is thicker than water and even family feuds. _

_If this is impossible, my address can be found on the reverse, but I feel that the best place for young Harry is with his family, where he is safe and sound. _

_My sincere consolations, and highest thanks, _

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore _

_--- _

Fifteen years later, Harry Potter woke up.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Name change, slight edit to the chapter. Please review! If you didn't find it intriguing or promising, I would appreciate your viewpoint, and if you _did_, I would appreciate that, too. No matter what your thoughts, I would love to hear them. Thank you so much for even giving this fic the time out of your day to glance at. I appreciate it.


	2. Education, Education, Education

Title:** Cast The First Stone**

**Author:** Anita M. Blake

**Warnings:** Explicit language, racism, homophobia, slash

**Pairings:** Eventual Theodore Nott/Harry Potter, mentions of Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnegan, Ronald Weasley/Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson.

**Summary:** Non-magic. Vernon used the _right_ methods to instil his prejudices in one Harry James Potter. But his ideals and hatred left little room for the real world, and when reality comes crashing down on Harry, will he adjust or will his heart and mind be closed forever?

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"_You're face-to-face with the man who sold the world."_

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**Two: Education, Education, Education**

_September 1, 1996_

The Wolf, world-famous heavyweight champion accepted his trophy with a smirk, looking straight down the camera and straight into Harry's eyes.

Harry would have given almost anything in the world to look like, or even just meet, the tan, muscled wrestler in the poster that adorned his wall. He was his idol, and, thanks to the glossy, printed paper that was tacked to his wall, the first thing he saw when he woke up in the morning.

But every time he woke up, he wasn't a six-foot-something multi-millionaire with three world championship titles under his belt. He didn't have buxom blondes clinging to his arm. He'd never even had a girlfriend - not that he'd tried beyond the occasional, "Hey, babes," to his occasional crushes, the Patil twins. Instead, he was just Harry - short and pretty scrawny, with messy black hair and intense green eyes. The Wolf had blue eyes and blond hair and bulging biceps. Perhaps he should see if his cousin could get a hold of some steroids for him to use? Surely Dudley 'knew people'.

_I'd never go that far, though. Would I? _Harry thought, questioning himself. _I need to buy some new weights. _

"Harry, Dudders!" Aunt Petunia's screech carried through the floorboards and right up into his room, jarring his thoughts from dreams of glory and fame to those of breakfast. "If you don't get up soon you're going to be late! Get up, boys!" Oh, sod_. _School.

Harry pulled a spider off of a pair of socks that had been lying on the floor of his bedroom¾he must have left the window open again last night¾and pulled them on quickly as possible, before clamouring down the stairs, jumping the last two steps.

The slate-grey kitchen was a stark change from the pristine white walls of the hallway, with even more contrast between it and Harry's black-and-bronze papered walls decked with posters of famous wrestlers. The whole thing was drab and boring and colourless, but it was home.

Staring blankly up at Harry from the kitchen tabletop were his two school bags, a small suitcase and a pile of clean, freshly-washed school clothes, black and clean-pressed and still smelling of the ironing water. Next to his pile was a much larger, but equally neat grey uniform with "Smeltings School For Physical Excellence" - Dudley's. Petunia had been awake and toiling away since five to get everything ready and perfect for Harry and Dudley's first day and first day back at their respective schools.

Vernon Dursley peered over his morning newspaper from his perch at the kitchen table, huffily as ever. He grunted around a croissant, "Is Dudley up, yet, boy?"

"Dunno," grinning cheekily, and leaning over and taking one from the plate for himself, "I didn' see 'im. Mm! Delishioush!"

Harry took the pile of clothing from the cold tabletop; it was still surprisingly warm in the cool morning light, even with the September chill seeping in through the windows and doors, every nook and cranny, even passing up through the woollen socks on Harry's feet and biting at his toes cruelly. Throwing one arm around Vernon's neck, he gave him a half-strangling hug, which was accepted with a tiny smile and a scowl.

"You watch it, boy," he smirked, "and tell Dudley he'd better wake up, too."

---

"Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, _get in the car_!" "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, Aunt Petunia!"

Oof.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Sorry, sorry…"

"Hurry up, Harry. I want to _go_." "Shut up, Dudley, I'm being quick as I can!" "Harry! Don't speak like that to your cousin." "Whatever."

"_Harry Potter!" _

"…Sorry, Dud."

"Whatever, Scarhead." _"Dudley Dursley!" _

"Sorry."

"Dickhead." "_JUST GET IN THE CAR, HARRY_."

---

Dudley's school-bus had already been and gone by the time that they reached King's Cross Station. Petunia had anxiously waved her baby whale goodbye as he toddled off and high-fived his friends. This year, for the first time ever, both her son and her nephew would be out of the house for months and months on end. She wrung her hands together.

Alone, with Vernon, with nothing but her thoughts and her everyday life and the neighbours; no fighting boys, no shouting, no television after ten o' clock. Just the empty clocks and Vernon's newspaper and his work and the ironing board. She was going to miss the hustle and bustle that had at least half-filled her house for the past fifteen years. Even when Dudley had been away at boarding school, Harry had still been there most evenings.

Petunia leaned down and placed her bony hands firmly on the sixteen-year-old's shoulders. She spoke breathily, as if holding back tears; tears of a mother about to let what she considered to be her second son slip through her fingers as easily as water draining away.

"Take care, Harry, and be sure to write. I want to know how everything's going and if there's anything wrong, just say so¾" "I know, Aunty," Harry said, embracing the middle-aged woman tightly. "I'll be fine. Really." "Glad to hear it," she sniffed. "If you get the chance to ring¾" "Do. I know. The train's here - I have to go!" Petunia sniffed again and wiped her nose on the back of her orange cardigan roughly, not even noticing the tear-tracks that were marking their way down her cheeks, mascara turning the once clear, salty tears grey and full of black clots.

She waved, and Harry hauled his trunk onto the train, looking back briefly before disappearing into its warm interior.

---

Harry spent some considerable time trying to find a carriage that wasn't full of blank-faced, apathetic, staring sixteen-year-old boys. He had almost walked into one dark carriage, thinking it was empty, only to notice the snogging couple in the corner. He had passed by that particular compartment quick as a flash, trying to blank out the memory before he vomited.

"Ron?" Harry's once-passive facial expression transformed immediately into one of jubilance: he would have recognised that dreadful, speckled mug anywhere! "Mate? Is that really you?" Ronald Billius Weasley nodded happily, and rose awkwardly to give his long-term best friend a lopsided, one-armed hug. He reached a long, gangly freckled arm around Harry and patted him on the back, which Harry quickly retreated from.

"No offence, mate, but what are you doing going to Hogwarts? I thought… well, I thought you said your parents couldn't¾"

Not even a reminder of his family's poverty could darken the exuberant expression on Ron's face. In fact, bizarrely, it seemed to only brighten it. His grin widened as he spoke: "The lottery. My Dad won some sort of company lottery and won a huge cash prize. We got to go to Egypt, and Mum saved away enough with the money to send me and Ginny to private schools until Uni!"

"Wow," Harry breathed, in awe of his friend's good fortune. "Congratulations! That's… huge."

"That's what she said!"

Harry whacked him upside the head.

---

_November 13, 1996_

The sounds of laughter was far from an unfamiliar one at Hogwarts School of Academia. The elderly Headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore, treasured and encouraged it - most of the other staff were not so liberal and liberating but keeping three hundred sixteen- to nineteen-year-old boys from having a laugh with their friends was like trying to sweep back the ocean with a broom for the thirty teachers at the school.

"Oi," called Ron Weasley, one of the residents of Gryffindor Tower, throwing one of the forms of makeshift currency the schoolboys used to his friend - chocolate.

In lieu of actual cash, the students of Hogwarts would traditionally swap all sorts of things for others, for favours, and for homework. Traditionally, tobacco was a favourite, but everything from mobile phone SIM cards to whiskey to full meals on "black pudding" days were exchanged.

Ron had just received a shipment of sweeties from his parents - Harry had just offered to do Ron's two algebra worksheets.

The packet of Smarties was caught with expert precision by a messy-haired, sixteen-year-old Gryffindor named Harry Potter. Laughter filled the air as he ripped the top open to find that the packet was one of the pink-only sort.

Harry laughed, but turned serious.

"I'm not gay, if that's what you're thinking, Ron."

The redhead blinked, caught off-guard. "Er, no, mate. It was just a joke." He exchanged anxious glances with Seamus, Dean, and Neville, who all recognised the touchy subject. Neville frowned at Harry, thoughtful.

Seamus Finnegan, one of the students in the dorm, coughed very deliberately.

Dean stared at him.

"Harry," Seamus started, "listen."

The tension was practically audible; it seemed to wrap around the room and ring in everyone's ears like a knell. Without hesitation, Seamus breathed deeply, and then: "Look, alright? I know how you feel about stuff but there's something I have to tell you. Dean and I are in a relationship right now." For a moment, the Gryffindors stood, sat, and crouched stock-still: until Harry spoke up, lashing out like an angry viper. "That's sick, guys. That's beyond sick. This had better be a fucking joke, or goddamn, I don't know what I'm going to do." "Harry, please¾" Dean reached out a hand towards the other boy, offering his silent forgiveness. "Just¾" "Don't touch me, you fucking sicko!"

Harry hissed and spat and coiled like an animal ready for the kill; and like an animal, no enjoyment came from following his instinct. _Urgh, _he thought, subconsciously scanning his brain for any times when Seamus or Dean might have touched him, brushed up against him, maybe trying to infect him¾ _fucking gross._

An ugly expression Harry couldn't quite identify came, fully-formed, onto Seamus Finnegan's face; it was a half-sneer, half-confused look that was every bit as conflicted as Harry was over the fact that he may have to _live_ near this abomination.

"You're disgusting," he whispered. "Really."

_Hark who's talking, _thought Harry, mockingly.

"Seamus," Ron began, looking sheepish, "Sorry, mate, but I'm just not comfortable either. Maybe if you and Dean weren't together it would be okay but it's just weird¾"

"No, Ron, it wouldn't be fucking _okay_!" Harry interrupted explosively. "You want these two, together or separate, being… being _that way_ around you? What if they go through your things and your underwear and do all sorts of freakish shit? What if they look at you in the shower, what if they try to¾"

"Shut up, Harry!" Finnegan was red-faced and angry. "You don't know what the _fuck _you're talking about. Neither of us are going to do anything like that. We're together and I don't even _care_ what you think any more."

"Don't you talk to me like that, you little freak with your gollywog fuck toy¾"

And finally, the noise stopped.

Ron stared. Neville, who had previously been silent, shifted on his four-poster bed, making the springs creak. "H-Harry, maybe you're - you're taking this a little… a little too far?"

"Neville's right, Harry, this is a bit much." Ron looked over at Dean and Seamus, red-faced and ashamed. "Sorry, Seam, Dean. I didn't mean what I said."

Harry raged on. "I'm not overreacting! Why aren't _you_ all reacting? Are you all like that, too, or something? What, are you _all_ fucking pansies now?"

"Potter, with your fixation on those macho wrestlers I'd say you were one of us."

He glared up at Seamus and Dean; Finnegan's fists were clenched so tightly together and had he thought to unclasp them, he would have seen the droplets of blood that were pooling where his nails had pierced the skin. "I'm nothing like you, you disgusting faggots." Finnegan moved forward as if to hit him, but Thomas grabbed his arm just in time; too late, Ron moved to stop Harry, but he was already close enough to reach Seamus. Harry sunk his fist into Finnegan's stomach with the force of all his boxing and wrestling training, hitting harder than he ever hit Dudley during practises.

All at once, like a breaking dam, the previously-hidden emotion rushed forward into Seamus' eyes and expression; his face crumpled more than his body did as he fell forward, clutching his stomach. He cast Harry a dark, blank stare, and for a moment time froze - Harry hadn't counted on fighting someone who had nothing left to lose. But instead, he simply shut his mouth with a snap. Harry hadn't noticed it fall open.

Finnegan turned away, leaving Harry still standing with a scowl, fist raised in a physical record of his aggression, unknowingly having cast himself away from his friends more than Seamus and Dean could ever have done.


End file.
